


All the Hunger on the Wind

by Elywyngirlie, kishafisha



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen, Ghouls, Hannigram Reverse Bang, Horror like image, Hunting, Inspired by Art, Jack starts a school for supernatural kiddos, M/M, Supernatural - Freeform, Vampires, Werewolves, art included
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 06:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20003482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elywyngirlie/pseuds/Elywyngirlie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kishafisha/pseuds/kishafisha
Summary: Will Graham, professor at Jack Crawford's school for wayward supernaturals, is convinced by Jack to come with him and Hannibal Lecter, vampire, newest professor of art and history, to come and locate their newest student--the ghoul, Abigail Hobbs.





	All the Hunger on the Wind

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the wonderful and patient Kishafisha for creating such fantastic art and for being patient with me when I decided that the last minute to change the story. She is fantastic. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy! Artwork and story prompt from kishafisha.

Jack Crawford was nothing but persistent. Tenacious, some might say, driven. An idiot, others would pronounce. Will agreed with that last assessment, adding that Jack was a sanctimonious bastard who always thought he knew better and pushed that opinion on everyone. This could be the heat talking as it prowled through his veins, fingernails sharpening into claws, as he stood nearly naked on his porch. She called to him, shining silvery guidance on his pack as they roamed the woods around his house. She pleaded with him. He pushed her off, that beguiling begging moon, as only a born Were could. 

“What are you doing here, Jack? Looking to become dinner?” The taunt rolled into a growl and he didn’t stop the sharp smile from growing on his face. 

Jack, to his credit, didn’t shudder or back away. He gestured to his right and Will’s eyes flickered, his human ears straining to prick forward. 

Another human. 

Will huffed, in disgust, shoving down the whine building within him. 

“What is wrong with you? Did your brain stop working?” 

“I had to come. It was an emergency.”

“There’s no true emergency on a full moon,” Will mocked. He had that written into his contract. A contract he had reviewed more than a dozen times before starting at Jack Crawford’s school for the not quite human. 

“Abigail Hobbs is awake.” The words came out of Jack’s mouth like a shot, cracking the still night air. Will started, then froze. Hobbs. The daughter of a ghoul. Perhaps the first ever confirmed ghoul. Her mouth had reeked of blood and her veins sang with meat--old meat. 

Will turned his attention to the other man. 

“Who are you?” he barked. 

The man stepped into the light, ash blond hair shimmering, his shoulders straight, his back ramrod. There was no fear in this human, his maroon eyes glittering in the half light from the porch. 

“I am Dr. Hannibal Lecter, your newest colleague,” he greeted smoothly, holding out a hand. Will held up one rippling with fur and grinned, all too aware that his teeth were alarmingly long. He expected Hannibal to feel fear but interest smoked along his skin. 

Interesting, Will thought. 

“We believe Abigail could be at risk for herself and others if we do not collect her tonight, tomorrow at the latest,” Jack added. 

“We have very little time before the FBI’s newest division comes,” Hannibal said. “If she is a true ghoul, she’ll raise more than just a few questions. We must bring her to the school.” 

“Coming back from the dead and eating the crypt keeper, you mean?” Will replied, amused. Hannibal gave a short jerk of his head. “And where do you come into play, Dr. Lecter?”

“I am a psychiatrist, specializing in the supernatural. I have training to help Abigail with her...transition. As well as to help bring her to Jack’s school.”

“I didn’t need assistance,” Will couldn’t help the jab. Hannibal cast a slow glance around the cabin, the woods, the pack prowling at the edges. 

“Yes,” his perfunctory answer didn’t hide the disdain and Will’s lips twitched into a small smile. 

“Give me a few minutes to run...this...out,” Will said to Jack, his eyes never leaving Hannibal’s face. “You can wait inside or return within two hours.” 

“Are you able to control your impulses after only an hour’s run?” Hannibal suddenly asked, his smokey accent thicker. 

“Will has that ability. It takes time, takes careful honing. It’s part of the reason why he’s at my school,” Jack explained.

“That and the police background.” Will’s smile was a knife, razor thin and cutting. “After all, Weres are only good for enforcement and sniffing out dead bodies.”

With that, he shed his human skin, shaking sweat off golden fur as he shifted into wolf form. Snorting once, he raced out into the woods, blood singing with the harmonies of the moon as his throat sang the song of the forest. 

  


* * *

The stream lapped at his legs, the sharp pine of the trees tickled his throat, and the sun warmed his skin. He lifted his head, fingers tightening on the pole before casting. A ripple near the surface of the water guided him to where he needed to place his lure. 

Will is a good fisherman.

He understands patience, the reel a quiet clicking as he slowly dragged the lure toward him. He tipped his face toward the sun and exhaled. As he inhaled deeply, pulling the spring air across his tongue, he froze. 

Beneath the sweet smell of matted birds nest and budding trees, beneath the slimy moss and fish scales of the river, was the cloying fetid reek of flesh dipped in formaldehyde, of corpse soil overturned.

Will’s eyes flew open, seeking the source of the scent. He scanned the riverbanks, pole limp in his fingers as tension curved his spine. The wolf began to trot up within him and he shoved it down. 

_Not here._

There. On the banks, hidden by closely clustered saplings, a tall shadow, horns jutting from its head. Not an animal. Something in between, quite ancient, forbidden... _interested_. 

Will hissed, the challenge in the curling of his lip, his canines lengthening. How did something breach the fort within his bone arena? But below that, below his pressing need for logic, anger simmered with the violation of someone breaching his bower. The growl leaked out from his lips and he began to move toward the shadow. 

Will, it called, intimate, consoling. 

Will….

“Will. Will wake up, we’ve arrived.”

Jack’s command broke through his reverie and Will started, sweat beading along his brow. He blinked, the bright fluorescents combating the stale air of the airplane, the slow shuffle of passengers fleeing for firmer ground, bleary eyed from their Baltimore red eye. Will blinked again and swiped at his face. Jack frowned at him. 

“Are you sure you have...this...under control?” 

“I’m fine,” Will bit out. He swallowed, his throat dry, and he trailed after Jack and Hannibal, demanding that they stop for coffee at the first kiosk in the sleepy airport. His wolf curled inside of him, whimpering. He could feel Hannibal’s eyes on him as he added half and half and as he amiably handed Jack two packets of the blue stuff. The older man refused anything and within a few moments, they climbed into a rental and were on their way to St. Catherine’s hospital on the outskirts of Minneapolis. 

“How did Jack merit a psychiatrist?” Will asked, uncharitably. Sunrise was only two hours off and, while it was theorized that ghouls walked among the living and didn’t suffer from exposure to the sun, like vampires, it wasn’t known. They were hidden creatures, subject to much speculation. Not a single ghoul walked the hallways of Jack’s school for supernaturals. 

“I actually will be teaching art and art history,” Hannibal replied pleasantly. Will met his eyes in the rear view mirror and arched a brow. 

“Well you’re certainly quite educated,” he drawled and Hannibal favored him with a polite smile. 

“I believe in an educated and active mind. And when one has seen the world as I have...art gives me a lens to discover the extraordinary in the ordinary.” It was a bland answer that really gave Will nothing. All he could glean from the statement was that perhaps Hannibal was older than the fortyish man that he appeared to be. Will narrowed his eyes and studied the man--sharp cheekbones, hooded eyes, an entirely too still demeanor. 

Vampire, he decided, and brushed it aside before turning to Jack. 

“Has she received proper care while at St. Catherine’s?” Will asked. 

Jack opened his mouth to answer but Hannibal swerved in ahead of him. 

“Excuse me Jack. I believe I am qualified to answer.” Will watched him smile graciously in the mirror as Jack nodded his acquiescence. 

“They are an excellent hospital with the resources to handle supernatural children. Abigail should be receiving superior medical treatment and she may already be receiving counseling in light of witnessing her father’s death.” Will watched him as Hannibal lifted his gaze and met Will’s. 

“You were responsible for that, from my understanding.” 

Will flashed sharp teeth. “Accidents do happen.” 

Rather than looking frightened or nervous, Hannibal offered a demure smile in response, the maroon of his eyes glittering in the flash of street lights as they rumbled across a bridge. With a smirk, he slipped on a pair of sunglasses that spoke of quiet wealth and Will shook his head, pursing his lips. He rarely met someone who didn’t back away from the implicit threat in Will’s voice, in the virus that surely must be swimming in Will’s blood, so easily transmitted. 

“And does this school often perform clandestine pickups of its students?” His voice was pleasant but Will heard the barb underneath. He opened his mouth to reply but Jack cut in quick. 

“Now you know Dr. Lecter that the school is designed to help supes adjust to living in an integrated environment. To blend in, as it were. Mostly, the students come to us. But from my time with the FBI, I have some connections. And a few of those connections are nervous about the Bureau’s newest division. They think it's designed to use the supes, especially children. Tag ‘em, train ‘em, and send ‘em out in the field. If they die, well they aren’t really human.” There was a bitterness to his words and Will felt remorse settle in his chest. Poor Bella. 

“I imagine this contact is the young Dr. Bloom.”

“You never heard it from me,” Jack replied solemnly and Hannibal gave a masculine chuckle in response. Will studied him in the rear view as he reached into his leather bag and pulled out a parchment wrapped sandwich. He untied the strings and Will held back his snort. How pretentious, he mocked, as he watched the other man take dainty bites out of his meal. Hannibal caught Will’s gaze and lifted the sandwich. 

“Can I interest you in a bite?” 

Will shook his head, swallowing his response as he watched Hannibal take another tidy bite. As far as Will knew, vampires could eat but, according to them, it tasted like sand or dirt. They derived no pleasure from it. But Hannibal looked as if he were enjoying the meal. He frowned and wondered what kind of monster Hannibal really was. Because that’s all Jack collected--broken, hungry, approval seeking monsters. 

Grimacing at his own maudlin thoughts, Will rolled his eyes and turned his gaze to the patches of snow flashing orange, the sound of the tires slushing through damp gravel as they trundled down the access road to St Catherine’s. The clock ticked over to six o’clock and dawn rode heavy on the air, already rife with the promise of spring snow. 

Will scuttled inside, Jack and Hannibal at his heels. He let Jack deal with the administrative staff as his feet beat a familiar path to floor seven, room 7501. 

Abigail Hobbs. 

There was no longer a cop posted at her door. Idiots, Will fumed, as he slipped in, expecting to find her asleep. 

Her bed was empty. The heart monitor sat dead in the corner, as it had for days. Wires were dangling off the bed and the sheets were tossed to the floor. 

Will dashed back outside, senses flaring, his eyes scouring the room. The elevators pinged and his hackles raised and he could feel his nails lengthening. Hannibal stepped out, his head cocked to the side. 

“Will.” It wasn’t a question. It felt, in that moment, an invitation, and Will swore that he saw hunger gleam in the strange man’s eyes. He let the snarl building in his throat loose and his wolf was pleased when Hannibal’s shoulders flinched minutely. His mouth twitched and Will licked his own set of lips. His thoughts, at that moment, were so tasty to be tempting. 

The air between them was smeared with screams and reeked of copper. 

Somewhere, someone was dying. 

Will curled inward, his shoulders hunched, following his nose, around the corner. He was aware that Hannibal was trailing behind him, sniffing the air delicately, as if the blood were a fine vintage. Picking out the notes of cherry and tobacco and Napa fields drenched in sunshine. 

Will stopped suddenly and Hannibal crashed into him, all bony hips and wandering hands and sandalwood hued leather. Will’s wolf pawed at him, insistent that it was done deliberately. Will pushed it aside. He had to focus. 

Crimson droplets flecked the tiled floor leading to the bathroom where a red hand print sent a shiver down Will’s spine. He couldn’t stop his tongue from sweeping over his lips, his wolf’s hackles raised in anticipation. Prey. But, wounded prey meant another predator. He was unconsciously aware that his nails had finishing morphing into claws and from Hannibal’s stutter, his eyes must have shifted. 

Yellow and bright and famished. 

Baring his teeth, Will stalked toward the door. He kicked it open and snapped, letting out a brief not entirely human yip. 

The cop, that idiot cop, was lying on the floor, his chest torn open. His head was smashed into the floor, tiles cracked underneath, rivulets of brain matter and blood flowing toward the door, lost in the ocean of blood from his ruined body. Blood streaked the walls, the floors, fairy fingerprints on the mirror. He sniffed the air as Hannibal stepped around him and knelt by the body. He rustled up a pair of latex gloves from somewhere on his cashmere suit and flicked them on, delicate fingers caressing over split cheekbones and ravaged heart. 

“She’s hungry,” was his quiet pronouncement and a growl rumbled the tiny space. Hannibal jerked his chin toward Will. 

“She’s just a child,” he added coolly and Will raised his hackles, almost spitting his agreement. A pup, his wolf reminded him. One who needed to hunt but didn’t know how. Unwanted memories of Will’s father rose up like a wraith behind Will’s eyes--patient, calm, teaching his odd child how to run like a wolf, think like a wolf. How to duck his head and be polite. (“People remember rudeness, Will,” he chastised across the hollows of time). 

“Where do you think she went?” Will bit off each word as he tried to soothe his wolf within. It whined, pawing at him to begin the hunt for the pup (“Your wolf is you, Will,” his father reminded him. Will batted it away). 

“She is on the hunt. A freshly awakened ghoul must be fed for weeks almost every hour before their hunger is sated.” 

“Any particular diet?” 

Hannibal’s lips curled upwards, a cruel knife edge of a smile, and his eyes glimmered darkly. Will’s wolf nosed him. Something was wrong. Something wasn’t adding up right. Some bad math with this doctor fellow. 

“Human and only human can satisfy a ghoul’s need after their turn.”

“So ghouls truly are cannibals. The literature didn’t lie,” Will remarked and he exited the room. Ghoul theory was just that--theory. So few ever truly studied and most were crones--broken, greying, decay given human form. Garrett Jacob Hobbs had a greenish sheen, his eyes almost relieved, the day Will shot him. 

He heard Jack’s determined tread and cleared his throat, throwing a panicked look at Hannibal. The other man stepped toward him, a polite mask on his face. His gaze swept over Will and his wolfish appearance and Will refused to let shame creep up his neck and highlight his cheeks. 

“It’s only cannibalism if you are the same species,” Hannibal murmured, brushing past Will, his sleeves dragging across Will’s chest before he hurried to meet Jack. A flurry of sandalwood and pomegranates and. . .dirt. Will wrinkled his nose, huffing to remove the scent. 

He blocked out the urgent voices, Jack’s pitch rising and falling, Hannibal’s soothing whiskey soaked replies, and allowed his eyes to close. The odd pendulum, the thing that allowed him and his wolf to merge, swung. Golden ambient light flooded his senses and he sighed, his body thrumming with the energy of the hunt. 

“I smell the cop, his heart beating rapidly as he realizes what I am. I crawl toward him, ripping off my wires, wires that aren’t needed because I am dead,” he spoke quietly. He never needed an audience. “I chase him down the hall, I let him see my face, a childhood in ruins. I swallow his screams as I smash his head into the floor, killing him instantly. It is a small mercy before I tear his chest open and feast.” 

Will’s eyes opened and he exhaled. He met Hannibal’s curious, and curiously blank, maroon eyes. Will quirked his brow and Hannibal offered him that same self pleased smile. 

“Interesting,” was his only remark and they both turned to look at Jack.

“Will, do you have any idea where Abigail may have gone?” he asked desperately. Will resisted the urge to shrug. The stereotype of a werewolf as a hound really needed to end. Like everyone else, he had to rely on guesswork and not his nose alone. (The nose did help but it wouldn't work if the brain couldn't understand it in the context) 

“I really have no idea, Jack.”

“She is hunting now,” Hannibal said and Jack waved him off. 

“Yes, and we are locking down the hospital.”

“This blood is at least an hour old,” Will pointed out. “At this point, there are probably more victims. We don’t know enough about her to figure out where she might go.” Jack sagged and Will struggled for a moment before patting the bigger man’s shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” he said lamely. “But perhaps we’ve lost this one.”’

Jack shrugged off the hand and growled. He looked fierce and unafraid and for a moment Will forgot that he was merely human. 

“No, until they grab her it’s fair game,” he almost shouted and Will shot Hannibal a frown. But to his surprise, Hannibal was sniffing around the corpse. What the hell is he, Will thought, confused. Hannibal rose and dusted his knees. 

“I believe we must try to figure out Abigail in order to trace her steps,” he suggested calmly. “What do we know about her? Where might she feel comfortable hunting?” 

Jack immediately began to list what was in Abigail’s file--straight A student with a lone B in algebra, cheerleading squad, mother was an administrative assistant, dad worked in construction. Dad was a ghoul, one of the first in the USA positively identified. He got on by with special meat supplied by a medical school until he broke down and started hunting. 

A supe’s hunting of humans, while driven from forces often beyond their control, was completely forbidden. To be caught hunting was to receive certain death. Garret Jacob Hobbs hunted for several months before they determined it was a humanoid that had been prowling college campuses. He was too careful. He left nothing behind. 

Except for Abigail. 

Will gasped.

“I know where Abigail is.” 

* * *

The Ford bounced, wheels squealing in protest, and Will grabbed the bar above his head. 

“Piece of shit car,” Will hissed as Jack jerked the wheel, almost slamming Will into the car door. He glared at the other man. Hannibal had his head out the window, sniffing the air. His face was carefully composed but Will would be lying if he didn’t characterize the lines around the older man’s eyes as delighted. 

“What is he?” he whispered to Jack, who was gripping the wheel so tightly that his leather gloves creaked. Jack narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. Dawn was approaching and the grey light rendered deep and confusing shadows in the outskirts of the wood. It was better to be cautious, especially when Hannibal let out a warning shout and Jack slammed on his brakes, swearing. A doe raced in front of the car, flanks quivering in the yellowed beam of the headlights. 

Jack shook his head, muttering under his breath, and the Ford began to toddle along the icy broken trail into the pale flecked woods. Dawn now was a giver of false hope. Will eyed Hannibal, waiting for him to shirk from Aurora’s rosy fingers. 

“See, Will,” Jack replied through clenched teeth. “He saved us from being rammed by a deer. He is an ally.”

“An ally isn’t a friend, Jack.”

“He’s a friend of Dr. Bloom. He cares about the school’s mission. He is well published in art and literature. Knowing art and history is important in educating young minds and to help supes like vampires blend in. You know how they stray toward the upper echelons of a society.” 

Will shook his head, curls plastered to his scalp from the dogged blast from the heater. 

“I don’t trust him.” 

It wasn’t mumbled. He watched Hannibal in the side view mirror and a quick tightening of the mouth informed him that the other man had heard. But he gave no other sign as he scented the air again.

“And that’s how you got kicked off the force in New Orleans.” 

Will snorted. “I got kicked off because very few people care for supes, especially Weres. Vampires, sure. They’re sexy. Their bite gives a rush. Sirens? Why not for the thrill. Weres? Vicious. Best to be put down.”

The undercurrent of bitter was old, a road well trod. And not just for Will. For most Weres. The outcasts of the outcasts. 

Unless, of course, one considered ghouls. 

Weres did not break that final taboo and dine on human flesh. Only the mad, the ones broken by dual lives. Struck from their human packs, alone on the edge of civilization, no other packs nearby to accept them, to give them a home. Driven to sink their fangs into the nearest meat they could find. 

At a certain point, all anyone was, really, was meat, Will reflected. 

This loneliness was the reason why Alana had visited. She had coaxed some semblance of a friendship from Will. Introduced him to Jack, then starting a small school for supes. Jack’s courting was determined, his wife’s wan eyes and shade of a smile, following him.

After much battering of his senses and front door, Will had agreed. 

“Think of it as a way to resurrect your repetition after you got bit and turned in New Orleans,” Jack had boasted. “The police will think that if you can be genteel, anyone can be.” 

Will had grimaced and tried not to rub his shoulder. The site of the ‘accident.’ 

He was jerked from his reverie when Jack hit the brakes again and the car slid to a stop in front of a ramshackle cabin. It gave the appearance of once being in good shape. The broken glass and the hastily scrawled Go to hell in garish orange did little to raise its resale value. 

“Charming,” Hannibal commented offhandedly as he strode toward the front door. He paused, head jerking north, and Will lifted his own head. There, underneath the crackling snow and broken leaves, was that crimson tang. 

“I smell it too,” Will hummed and Jack eased out of the car. 

“It’s spring. It’s not hunting season. What do you smell?”

“Blood,” Hannibal crisply replied. He stepped into the cabin and the smell followed him. Licking his lips, his wolf settled behind his eyes, Will followed. 

Dead leaves were scattered along the floor, glass shards flickering in the half light of Jack’s sweeping flashlight. An underbelly of rot beneath the floorboards. Upstairs, wind whistled through cracks in the walls. The air felt as cold as a morgue. 

Which turned out to be a good thing, judging by the state of the corpses in the corner, Will thought ruefully as Hannibal knelt down, hiking up his elegant trousers. It was such a graceful move that hiking did it injustice, Will ruminated. Adjusted. Tailored. Whisked. Hannibal looked at Will, a smile hovering along his blade sharp cheekbones as if he heard Will’s thoughts. 

“Cheek,” Will mumbled, his father’s accent heavy in his mouth. Hannibal smirked--and there truly was no other word for it--and gestured toward the pile. 

What were once men were now mostly desiccated corpses. The ravages of a ghoul and then the forest had rendered most of the meat from the bones. Tendons stuck stubbornly to jaws and kneecaps. A scrap of hair fluttered in the mournful wind and Will was grateful the skull faced away, no semblance of a person, just a collection of faintly food scented things. 

And even then this heap of bones had been picked over, a femur dragged toward a window, fingers stuck into a floorboard, a ghost of a gouge where it had tried to escape. It appeared to be two males and one female, Will judged, scanning the bodies as Hannibal whipped out another pair of gloves and began to arrange the skeletons. 

“You should leave those for the police,” Jack pointed out and Hannibal barely spared a moment to deign to reply. 

“You don’t work for them anymore, Jack.” 

It was pointed and designed to sting. Will felt the barb and swiveled to watch Jack’s face tighten, his lips curling, before the inevitable grief swamped him. For a moment, Will felt like consoling him. It felt like the right thing to do. He wondered why Hannibal had made such cutting remarks throughout the day. It was an odd thing for a new colleague to do. 

And then that crimson call, a cut off scream, a gurgled cry, split the air. His wolf leapt into him, the pendulum barely swung, and Will took off like a gunshot with a crack. Branches snapped beneath his feet, snow slushed around his ankles and he knew Hannibal trailed him by a hair. The sun was fully up now, the woods bathed in the broken gold of a faint yellow sun. The birds were silent; they knew that the hunters had not gone to ground but tore through the forest that morning. 

Will skidded to a stop, sniffing the air. 

“To the right,” Hannibal huffed as he loped by, his stride long and graceful. Will darted after him, keeping the pace easily, his wolf slipping through his veins and bleeding into his eyes. The world became sharper, starker, and he wondered if this was all by design. 

In a clearing, a man screamed for help. Will and Hannibal paused at the edges. The man was on the ground, crawling through snow to reach them. His eyes were white and wild, a streak of blood along his jaw, his shirt sodden shredded scraps. Will immediately grasped that he was dragging a broken leg. The other one was caught in the jaws of a waif life figure, gnawing determinedly. She slammed her hand into the man’s back and a snap sounded loudly. Birds twittered and flew into the air. 

He was dead. 

Will twitched. She was a tiny thing, all colt limbs and mermaid hair, auburn locks tumbling over wind chafed skin. She wore her hospital gown, speckled with brown and red flecks, something stringy that Will did not want to identify, the gown’s ragged hem fluttering around her knees. The clearing was an oasis of quiet, punctuated only by her slurping, her teeth grinding together. 

His stomach clenched and he inhaled deeply, biting his cheek to stop wincing at the fresh smell of death--decomposition and meat and dirt. Abigail stood on knobby legs, lifting her nails from the man’s back with a sucking sound. To his amazement, she lifted her fingers to her mouth and began licking them. 

“She’s hungry,” Hannibal softly commented. Will nodded. He has seen Were cubs after their first hunt. Their enthusiasm led them to violate certain norms of the pack. Of course, he or another male would often nip that in the bud--sometimes with a yelp, sometimes with teeth. Of course he had no pack now outside his beloved dogs. 

Abigail needed teeth, he thought, and his wolf sighed as Will let him take over. Let his wolfish self run the show. His fingernails melded into claws and he felt fur rippling along his hands and shoulders. The stinging cold of the air faded as his beard grew thicker. 

Hannibal moved cautiously and Abigail’s bright eyes snapped toward him. 

“Abigail, we are your friends,” Hannibal greeted. He spread his hands and Abigail sniffed the air. She stopped, eyes flickering over Will before widening when they met Hannibal’s. 

“He murdered my dad,” she said softly. She held Hannibal’s gaze and the man paused between her and Will. Will stiffened. If she fought him, would Hannibal join? Hannibal looked over his shoulder and Will couldn’t swallow the fear digging into his throat. He coughed, once, and Hannibal returned to Abigail. 

“I’m sure Will thought it was his only option.”

Abigail hissed at Hannibal and crouched, fingers digging into the soil. She tensed, as if ready to fly. 

“I understand your pain, Abigail,” Will said abruptly. Hannibal swiveled to stare at him and Will held back his yelp of surprise. 

Things began to fall in to place. 

“How can you understand?” she snarled, tears tracking through the cracked blood on her cheeks. “You murdered my father. You were turned into a Were. You can’t understand what it was like to live with this ticking time bomb--a bomb you set off!” 

Will gave her a lopsided smile. “I will tell you what no one else knows.” She paused, cocking her head. “I wasn’t made into a Were. I was born one.”

Abigail started then, stumbling forward until she was able to stabilize herself. She stood up, arms crossed, disbelief warring with hope. Hannibal was as silent and as still as the grave. 

“I heard you were bit.”

“Yeah, I let that rumor happen. The man we were arresting who bit me was a member of the pack with which I was sort of affiliated. I was trying to get him kicked out for cruelty. He thought it would be great revenge.” Neither of them responded, quiet as the grave, and he plowed on: “And it wasn't. As a born Were, I can resist the call of the moon. I don’t need to change every month, though it is better if I do. And I can blend easier. My eyes only look yellow when I want them to.

“So I know what it’s like to walk around with a ticking time bomb, exploding before you are ready. And I’m sorry Abigail. If I had known, I would have tried something else to stop your dad from attacking Elise Nichols.” 

“Why were you there, Will?” Hannibal asked sharply. “You’re not a ghoul.”

Will snorted. “You mean not like you?” 

A gasp sounded in the clearing. Will swore as Jack’s cologne rode hard on the air--all refined leather and tobacco. But Hannibal, Hannibal was furious. His mask cracked and he bared sharp teeth. His eyes widened and those cat like pupils, the one he had so carefully hidden, that mark of a ghoul, glowed in the maroon depths of Hannibal’s eyes. The pupils that had flared when seeing Abigail and had rendered its secret to Will. 

Hannibal ran toward Jack, a mere blur at his speed. Will dashed to stop him. 

“You can’t kill him!” 

But his arms were already around Jack’s neck and chest, his teeth were red, and a gash leaked down Jack’s throat. 

“Give me one good reason.”

Will swallowed and rolled the dice. “Abigail.” Hannibal’s eyelids twitched. “She needs a mentor. You’re the best.”

“I’m flattered by your words, Will. But it will not spare Jack’s life.” 

“You can escape. You can alter his memories.”

“The lies told about us would rival the myths about vampires,” Hannibal spat. Jack struggled in his arms, wheezing, blood trickling down his grey overcoat. Will swallowed a tremor. 

“He’s trying to do some good. The school needs him.” 

Hannibal paused, considering. Abigail had moved silently to stand beside Will. She was drenched in blood, an ill omen, a portent for disaster. A Cassandra, Will thought ironically. 

“Please,” Will added. It was a staring contest, riddled with promise and heat and, on Will’s part, a recognition that he would need to offer something in return. He only hoped that the bargain didn’t mean his life for Jack’s. 

“He can teach me,” Abigail whispered, her voice, a broken thing, a rusty hinge creaking in an unused house. Will jerked around to look at her. She was staring at Hannibal. “He understands.”

“Are you sure about this, Abigail? For whatever I offer, it cannot be rescinded.” Hannibal was grave, his dark deep voice promising something that Will could not scent. His wolf pawed nervously at them. Abigail nodded and Hannibal turned his scalding gaze back to Will. 

“A place can be made for you, Will. If you want it. In exchange for Jack.”

“A place in the ground?” Will asked bitterly and Hannibal gave him one of his rare pleased grins. 

“No, Will. With us. You, me, Abigail.” 

Will knew that was as much as he was going to get. His wolf paced nervously inside of him and Will remembered his dream this morning on the plane. Of Death watching him, beckoning him. Hannibal didn’t want him dead. He was interested. He wanted a companion who knew him for what he was, Will surmised. 

A head of a ramshackle broken family. 

A pack. 

Will gave a nod and Hannibal pulled a needle from his jacket. 

“Abigai,l as you’ve hunted with your father, I assume you know what to do.” 

Abigail moved quickly and took the needle, popping off the cap, and lining it on Jack’s neck. Jack whimpered and he looked at Will. 

“Will,” he pleaded. 

“I’m doing the best I can, Jack,” Will replied. And Abigail stabbed him in the neck, depressing the plunger. Jack struggled against Hannibal’s iron grip until he grew slack and Hannibal let him fall to the ground. 

“I’m assuming that’s some sort of tranq,” Will commented as Hannibal took the needle back from Abigail and pocketed it. He took off his jacket and placed it around the girl. Will wondered if they felt cold. 

“Abigail, we need to take this body somewhere it can easily be found.” 

“The highway is six miles east of here.”

“Excellent. Carry the body there. Do not be seen. Once you've hidden, return here immediately.” 

Abigail easily hoisted Jack and loped off into the forest. She wasn’t quite as fast as Hannibal was and Will wondered if that was an age thing. Will turned back to Hannibal expectantly. 

“Yes, it was a tranquilizer mixed with ketamine and another dopamine agonist. It’ll block the binding of these memories into the longer term memory. And with the need for sleep, he’ll be convinced it was mostly a dream.”

“Except I’ll be gone,” Will prompted and Hannibal stepped toward him, nearly towering over him.

“So unpredictable. Such a cunning boy you must be, Will, to survive as you have.”

“You must know, Dr. Lecter. We are very similar.”

“Or identically different,” Hannibal challenged. He leaned forward, nosing Will’s check, and sighing. No breath touched Will and he tensed. It was an alien gesture but somehow familiar. A gesture toward comfort. 

“We will need to stage your death,” Hannibal murmured. “I hope you don’t mind losing some blood.” 

“Are you proposing to dine on me?” Will countered, his heart beat thrumming, his wolf watching warily. He didn’t deny his stomach’s clenching or his wolf’s interest. A pack to run with, he reminded himself. 

“Just a bite. A small sacrifice. To prove your dedication to our family.”

Will looked up at him, baleful blue eyes unblinking.

“And what will you sacrifice for me?” 

Hannibal smiled benevolently, hunger pulling those aristocratic lips upwards. Will shivered. Whether it was in anticipation or fear, he couldn’t say. And he didn’t want to. 

“Everything.” 

  


**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art Inspiration for "All the Hunger on the Wind" by hauscrashburn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20018665) by [kishafisha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kishafisha/pseuds/kishafisha)




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